


Into the Sunset

by schneestern



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: some gore - Warning, some violence - Warning
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schneestern/pseuds/schneestern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank and Gerard are on the run from the police. A Bonnie & Clyde AU of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Sunset

“Jesus fucking Christ, Frank.”

“I know. Fuck, man, I know.” Frank's smile is wide and Gerard can't help himself, he raises his fist into the air and yells Frank's name at the top of his lungs.

Next to him, Frank's laughing and saying something about how that's unfair because Gerard's name doesn't work with anything like that, but Gerard doesn't pay attention.

The cabrio flies along the empty highway, hot afternoon sun burning Gerard's skin. The radio fucked up a few towns ago, but listening to the wind whip past his ears is a lot more satisfying.

Gerard runs his hand through his hair; it's sticky with gel and sweat. He can't remember the last time he showered. His white shirt's full of blood, red and brown.

But he looks over and there's Frank, sitting next to him, still smiling.

Frank.

He's cleaning his bloody knife and Gerard grabs it with his sticky hand, the other one steady on the steering wheel, always steady.

Frank looks over at him. Their fingers touch on the blade. “What the fuck, Gee?” And even now he's smiling.

Waiting for something to happen, for shit to blow up in his face.

Gerard tugs and the knife slips from Frank's hand, cutting the skin along his thumb open in a neat line.

“Just get a new one. This one's never gonna get clean.” Gerard tosses the knife out sideways.

The wind whips it back and to the right. There's a horrible screech as the blade connects with the trunk before it hits the street and disappears in the cloud of dust they're leaving in their wake.

“You could've killed us, asshole,” Frank says and for a second Gerard believes him.

Then he looks over at Frank again, who's sucking the blood from his thumb, and the thought is gone.

Nothing can get them.

Nothing at all.

“Fuck you,” Gerard says and smiles, glances at the road again.

He sees Frank move out of the corner of his eye and then Frank's pulling his head sideways by the hair. Gerard swallows and hits the gas harder, feels the engine roar underneath them.

Frank's mouth closes over his and he tastes like blood, so much fucking blood. Gerard can't see the road but he steers blindly, closes his eyes and gets lost in the way Frank's tongue meets his.

And still it's just blood there between their tongues.

It's fucking intoxicating is what it is.

This is why Gerard gave up cocaine and booze and pills.

This is why.

Because of Frank.

“Hey, asshole, better watch the road.” Frank slides back into his seat and Gerard blinks at the road. One of the front tires skids over dusty earth and he takes it onto asphalt again.

So much road stretching on and on in front of them.

“I'm hungry,” Frank says.

Gerard looks over at him. There's a tear in his shirt and Gerard can see the tattoos underneath. He drew them. Some other asshole inked them, but Gerard was there for each one of them.

For every single one.

“There's PopTarts in the back,” Gerard says.

Frank turns around and Gerard can hear him go through the bags. He squints into the sun, tries to figure out how far ahead of the cops they are already.

If he can risk taking a break, for--

\--other things.

“Gee, hey,” Frank's looking amused and Gerard still fucking blushes when he gets caught thinking about it.

Fucking Frank.

The most perfect of alliterations.

“What?”

“There's no fucking PopTarts in the back. Just a shitload of money we stole.”

He giggles and it makes Gerard laugh and then Frank starts laughing too.

It sounds weird with the wind ripping the sounds away just as they come out of their mouths. Gerard can't get enough of it. He doesn't remember how long it's been since his last drink, but he's almost certain that this is what it felt like.

Being drunk.

Frank's laugh.

“Holy shit!”

Gerard realizes his thoughts have strayed again and he looks to where Frank's pointing, almost bouncing in his seat with excitement.

It's a truck stop. A tiny one, but there's a diner and a little shop.

“Where did I put my gun?” Gerard pats down his body and looks at Frank questioningly.

Frank grins at him and then turns back to the rest stop. He knows where Gerard's gun is.

So does Gerard.

“We're not gonna rob the fucking place. Gee, we have enough money to last us for weeks.”

What Frank's actually saying is _We have enough money to last us till the rush wears off_. Gerard knows that.

He nods and plays along.

“I want some fucking pancakes,” Frank says and licks his lips, like he's in some 60's commercial.

Gerard wants bacon, fat greasy bacon.

“Fine, but I need a new shirt first.”

Frank looks at him and it feels like a full body touch, the way his eyes take Gerard in, sweated-through bloody shirt, torn black jeans, half open boots down against the gas pedal.

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully, as if he's agreeing to something completely different.

Gerard's tempted, but he wants bacon more.

“Later,” he says and Frank shrugs.

Gerard pulls the car over by the side of the road and gets out. There's a warm wind going that makes the shirt on his back uncomfortably cold.

Frank waits until Gerard's hanging halfway over the backseat, rummaging through all the bags filled with money, before he says, “I think your duffel's in the trunk.”

When Gerard looks up sharply, Frank's actually staring at his nails, picking blood from one. There's nothing but casual indifference visible on his face, but Gerard can tell from the way he holds his body that he's smiling.

“Fuck you, you motherfucking asshole.”

There's a grin. Frank's not saying anything else.

Gerard walks around to the back, long scratch from the knife marring the red paint job. He fumbles for the latch and pulls it open.

He sees his bag right away.

“Fucking move your feet,” he tells the cop who stares at him with wide eyes, mouth working silently behind the gag. The flesh wound in his stomach has started to turn brown and when Gerard pushes his legs aside he scares some flies away from it, their wings heavy with blood.

“Gross.”

“Hey, while you're back there, can you see if my lube accidentally got into your bag again?”

Gerard straightens up so fast his vision goes blurry for a second, before focusing in on the back of Frank's head.

He's painfully aware of his erection and the way Frank's not looking at him at all.

Like Gerard's not even there.

As if he's already forgotten all about Gerard.

With shaking hands Gerard fumbles out his bag from under the cop's bound feet. He almost dumps all the contents on the ground before he tell himself to _get a fucking grip_ and slams the trunk again, making the whole car shake.

He throws the bag into the front seat and gets in next to it.

Gerard doesn't look at Frank, just stares at his folded hands in his lap, his erection a visible shape against his jeans. He's still breathing fast, like he just ran a mile.

“Hey, Gee, hey.” Frank's close, lips right next to Gerard's ear. One hand tangling in Gerard's hair, the other sliding over Gerard's folded hands.

“Calm down.”

Deep breath in. And out. Gerard focuses on the bitten off nails on Frank's fingers and how close to his dick they are.

He slides one of his hands out and grabs Frank's, pulls it right over his dick.

Frank doesn't laugh. He breathes into the soft hair at the side of Gerard's neck and leaves his hand exactly where it is.

“I'm here,” he says, even quieter than before.

What he's really saying is _for now_. Gerard knows this, too.

Frank climbs over the bag between them and slides into Gerard's lap. His dick rubs against the back of Gerard's hand and he can tell Frank's not hard yet. He always takes longer to get there.

To get into it.

Gerard has to look away. The dust is settling on the asphalt again and he can see the bullet holes in the side of the car in the side mirror.

“Hey, Gee. Come on you fucking psychopath, jesus.” Frank pulls at his chin until Gerard has to look at him. He folds his arms in front of his chest defensively and it makes Frank smile.

“I'm never going to leave you behind, Gerard. When will you fucking understand that? We're forever, asshole.”

He's still smiling but there's a look in his eyes Gerard knows to trust. Frank always gets it before he tells Gerard to duck, to hold still--

\--to run and never look back.

It doesn't completely convince him. Nothing ever does. It's the part of Gerard that's just--not right.

But Frank's fixing that.

He's fixing it.

Gerard surges forward and Frank meets him halfway, their teeth clashing painfully, before Gerard gets a hold of Frank's hair, pulling, pulling, until their mouths are slotted just right.

Frank kisses with teeth and heat and Gerard can't do anything but match it.

The blood is rushing loudly in Gerard's ears when Frank pulls away. His lips are red and he looks at Gerard with the same hungry look he had earlier. Gerard looks down and he can see Frank's getting hard. He slides his hand over Frank's dick and rubs it, slowly.

Frank lets him, for a while, before pushing Gerard's hand away. “I really am hungry, Gee.”

Gerard makes an exasperated noise. “Later?”

Frank gives him a raised eyebrow.

Gerard looks back at him, waiting.

“You're such a fucking weirdo. Of course later, shit. Like I want to walk around with a boner all day.”

Frank laughs and climbs from Gerard's lap, falls more than slides back onto the empty seat next to Gerard. He runs a hand through his hair and Gerard hastily grabs for his bag, pulling out a new shirt.

He tries not to look at Frank when he unbuttons the old one and tosses it in the backseat. The new shirt is black and the moment he slides into it, doing up the buttons, he can feel the heat of the sun on the back of his neck, stronger than before.

He turns on the engine and they drive the rest of the way to the truck stop in silence.

Gerard pulls into what passes for a parking area and kills the engine. Frank stuffs some bills in his pocket and they walk into the diner side by side.

When they enter the smell of food almost instantly hits Gerard. His stomach rumbles and Frank laughs, steering him to a booth close to the door.

“Food's on me, Geeway.” He slaps the wad of cash on the table and Gerard gives him a grin, his ass sliding over the ugly yellow plastic of the seat. He's still hard and he has to ball his hands on his thighs to keep from touching himself.

Frank looks at him like he knows exactly what's going on.

The waitress, who steps up to their table, looks right through them when she asks them what they want. Frank orders a plate of pancakes with extra syrup. Gerard orders scrambles eggs with bacon, with extra bacon.

When the waitress walks away, Frank turns around to look at her ass.

Gerard licks his lips and lifts one of his boots, places it on the opposite bench, right between Frank's legs.

Frank turns around slowly and gives Gerard the raised eyebrow again. This time it means something entirely different.

“Outside,” he says and they simultaneously get up.

“We'll be right back,” Frank shouts across the empty diner and the waitress gives them an indifferent nod, not looking up.

Gerard mumbles, “Bitch,” not quite meaning it.

Frank gives him a look but doesn't comment.

Outside back behind the diner the trash can is overflowing. There's a little shade there.

Gerard slams Frank against the brick wall before the door's fully closed behind them. He gives Frank a rough kiss and then gracelessly falls to his knees, wincing as the pain shoots through him.

“Easy, Gee,” Frank says, but he's hastily undoing his belt and shoving his jeans and underwear down.

Gerard folds his legs up under his ass and runs his hands up Frank's thighs, coarse hair bristling against his palms.

“No sweet talk,” Frank says and without hesitating Gerard curls his hand around Frank's dick and takes it into his mouth.

He has to work to get the rhythm right, hand, mouth, slide, suck, but Frank's patient with him and Gerard knows how to thank him for it.

Gerard takes Frank's dick in deep, swallowing around it, eyes watering. He doesn't choke and Frank groans, shoving his hips forward. Gerard keeps sucking, keeps his hand moving, focused on nothing but Frank and the taste of his dick on his tongue.

There's drool sliding down his chin. Frank's hand is in his hair, pulling him forward hard. Gerard's nose gets smashed into the hair at the base of Frank's dick. He can't breathe and he pulls back, Frank rocking forward into his mouth again.

He can't get away and the feeling anchors him.

Gerard keeps going, head bobbing back and forth. It's almost hypnotizing, easy to get lost in, but Gerard's still hard too and he needs, he needs, fumbles at his own fly, but can't get it open, metallic teeth stuck tightly together.

The sound of frustration he makes is what sends Frank over.

He makes a ragged noise and before Gerard can think about it he pulls back, back, away and holds Frank's dick when he comes.

The come stings in his eyes and Gerard closes them, tries not to see the exasperated look on Frank's face. He hates it when Gerard pulls a stunt like this.

Gerard just raises his head defiantly.

He can still do whatever the fuck he wants.

Just ask the ten corpses back at Bloodbath fucking Idaho.

“What the fuck!”

The voice is not Frank's and Gerard's eyes snap open and he turns his head to look to his left. His vision's blurry and he rubs at the come in his eyes until he can see.

A guy in a greasy apron is standing in the alley, door quietly clicking shut behind him. He's holding two black bags full of trash.

“What the hell do you fucking faggots think you're doing?”

He takes a step closer, still holding the bags like he's forgotten all about them.

“Buzzkill,” Gerard says quietly and Frank hums in agreement, then bends down to his pants and back up so fast, Gerard barely sees the movement.

He makes it quick, two shots right into the open mouth of the guy as he's about to ask another stupid question. There's a wet, red explosion out the back of his head and he falls backwards heavily, still clutching the two bags of trash.

Gerard watches the blood pool around his head, while Frank pulls up his pants and zips up.

“Gee, hey.” Gerard turns his head away from the dead man.

From the divine look of blood drawing perfect circles.

Frank's looking at him fondly now. He reaches out and wipes at the come on Gerard's cheek.

Gerard smiles at Frank.

Frank.

“Let's go grab our food and get the hell out of here. I hate diners anyway.” Frank stuffs the gun in the front of his pants, doesn't even bother to hide it.

“Bacon,” Gerard says and scrambles up from the floor.

Frank laughs at him, then helps him brush off the dust.

They step over the dead man's body, careful to avoid the blood. Gerard holds the door open for Frank.

On his way past, Frank reaches out and squeezes the back of Gerard's neck.

And Gerard thinks _yes, all the fucking way, Frankie_.

He knows Frank knows that too.

On their table the food is already starting to get cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely partner in crime desticex.


End file.
